Lucy Gordon: For The Sake Of His Child

© 2000

YOU’RE PERFECT , my darling, do you know that? A bit small, perhaps, but size isn’t everything, is it? To me, you’re perfect. And you’re the love of my life!

Gina came out of her happy dream, and looked around hastily in case she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. But nobody in the car park had noticed her. Relieved, she patted the little car lovingly, and it seemed to shine more brightly, basking in her adoration.

It was, as she’d admitted, tiny. It was also twelve years old and had come at a knock-down price. People had been known to chuckle at the sight of it. But it was hers. It served her faithfully in a chug-chug fashion. And she loved it.

Her smile faded as she tried to open the door to get in. On one side of her was a brick wall. On the other side was a large Rolls-Royce, whose owner plainly felt entitled to take up more than his own parking space. She was tightly hemmed in.

‘Now, that’s not on,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t even open the door far enough to get in.’

Luckily the car had no barrier between the boot and the seats. By climbing through the back, Gina was able to reach the driver’s seat. It was squashed, undignified, and did nothing to improve her temper.

‘Who does he think he is?’ she muttered.

She began to back out slowly, holding her breath. At first all went well, but suddenly the little car threw a temper tantrum, slewed to the side and slammed into the shiny Rolls with an ugly grating sound.

Horrified, she squeezed out of the back again and went down on one knee to inspect the damage. Both vehicles were badly scratched and dented but on the Rolls it looked worse.

‘That was clever,’ said an ironic male voice above her head. ‘I’d just had it resprayed, too. Ten out of ten for timing!’

From this angle he looked enormous. His head of thick, dark hair towered over her from a great height and his shoulders seemed broad enough to blot out the sun. Hastily Gina got to her feet, but he still had eight inches over her, and it was exasperating to have to express her righteous indignation looking up.

‘Clever isn’t the word I’d choose,’ she said. ‘Selfish and arrogant, maybe.’

‘Who?’

‘Whoever parked this Rolls using two parking spaces, and leaving me no room to get out.’

‘Just how much room does this peanut on wheels need?’

‘We can’t all drive a Rolls,’ she said, incensed at this slur on her beloved.

‘Just as well. If you drove a Rolls the way you drive this-this-’

‘You’re encroaching on my space. You didn’t even leave me enough room to open the door. You had no right to park like that.’

‘Actually, it wasn’t me. My chauffeur parked it.’

‘I might have known.’

‘I see! If owning a Rolls is a crime, having a chauffeur is a hanging offence, right?’

‘It’s all of a piece, isn’t it? Anyone who can afford a chauffeur doesn’t need to think of other people. Why didn’t you stop him doing this?’

‘Because I wasn’t in the car at the time. This is the first I’ve seen of it, and I’ll agree he didn’t do a brilliant job. But let’s face it. He still left you room to back out, if you’d gone in a straight line. You’re not supposed to do a sharp turn, or did nobody tell you?’

‘If you’d left me my rightful space,’ Gina said crossly, ‘I’d still have missed you, no matter how many sharp turns I did.’

‘Your steering is defective,’ the man said, with exasperated patience. ‘And you’re damned lucky it came to light now and not when you were trying to avoid a truck.’

He was right, of course. That just made it worse. Now she was faced with a huge repair bill.

‘So what shall we do?’ the man asked. ‘Exchange insurance details, or would you prefer pistols at dawn?’

‘This isn’t funny-’

‘If we make a fight of it, I could say a few things about your wonky steering-’

‘Will you stop casting aspersions at my car?’

‘Considering what your car has done to mine, aspersions are the least I’d like to cast at it. The insurers will probably declare that little rabbit hutch a write-off.’

‘Now, look-’

‘So why don’t I just accept all the blame and pay for your repairs and mine?’

His sudden capitulation cut the ground out from under her. Her indignation died.

‘You’d-do that?’

‘Yes, despite my disgraceful chauffeur and my reprehensible Rolls, I have some human qualities after all.’

‘Thank you,’ she said meekly.

A middle-aged man had approached and was watching the scene. The other man turned to him.

‘You’ve landed me in it, Harry. What were you thinking of to park like this?’

‘Sorry, guv, but the bloke on the other side-he’s gone now-was taking up half our space, so I thought it wouldn’t matter if- Oh, my Gawd!’ He’d seen the damage.

‘Never mind. Just drive this lady’s-er-car to my usual garage and tell them to do what’s needed. Then come back here, take the Rolls-dents and all-and drive it to the garage.’

‘How do I get in?’ Harry demanded.

‘Through the back,’ Gina said through gritted teeth.

He squeezed into the little car and eased it gingerly out, only just managing not to graze the Rolls again. The man cast Gina a speaking look but maintained a tactful silence.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly.

‘It’s not your day, is it? Where can we sit down and swap details in comfort?’

‘There’s a little place over there.’

He looked wildly out of place in Bob’s Café, a cramped greasy spoon that catered for people with little money and less time. He must have been a good six foot two, with long legs, broad shoulders and a set to his head that suggested authority. His suit was pure Savile Row, as befitted a man with a Rolls, but his air of confidence was his own.

She cast a disparaging glance down at her own clothes. Her grey business suit was neat and appropriate to her job, but it had been the least expensive in the store. She kept it varied with the clever use of scarves and jewellery, but this man looked as though his normal companions wore haute couture.

She tried to remind herself that he was the villain of the piece, but that was hard when he’d offered to pay all the bills.

It was lunchtime and the place was just filling up, but he found them a window table. He was the sort of man, Gina realised, who would always be able to find a window table in a crowded place.

‘Let me buy you a coffee,’ she suggested. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘Forget it. I’d rather heap coals of fire on your head.’ He studied the menu. ‘I’m hungry and I don’t like to eat alone. Choose something.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He grimaced. ‘Sorry. It’s my way. I’m used to giving orders, and it’s a hard habit to break.’

His voice was deep and resonant, making her realise that most voices were flat.

She made her choice and he hailed a waitress without trouble. When he’d given the order he said, ‘My name’s Carson Page.’

‘And mine is Gina Tennison. I’m really grateful to you, Mr Page. You were right about my steering. And it shouldn’t have been like that because I’ve just had the car repaired-’

‘You should sue the garage. Get yourself a good lawyer.’

‘Actually, I am a lawyer.’

‘Good grief!’

‘Well, it’s hard to be a convincing lawyer in a garage full of male mechanics,’ she said defensively. ‘It doesn’t matter how many legal qualifications you have, they still do what they like because they think you’re just a silly woman who knows nothing about cars.’